


Not Forgotten

by neevebrody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Psychological Drama, SGA Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard learns - once again - that no good deed goes unpunished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tielan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/gifts).



> Written for the 2011 Sheppard H/C Holiday Fic Exchange.

Colonel John Sheppard opens his eyes into darkness. The dull beat of his heart, ramping up to match his breathing, thuds inside his ears. It happens a lot when he flies, only he doesn't think he's flying now. No, this is something else.

He's been stunned, knocked cold, gassed, turned into a bug, even practically sucked dry by a Wraith… but this is a new sensation altogether. He swallows several times to clear his ears, but there's no change. A tiny thread of fear starts to wind around his heart, and with it, the quick burn of adrenaline. Now he thinks of it, that bug thing is the clearest memory he has to draw on.

He blinks. And blinks again. He knows he's doing it because he can feel it. Still, nothing lies in front of him but a cold, watery blackness. Whether it's inside of him or he's inside of it is uncertain, yet he feels it surrounding him… seeping in, taking hold. He tenses, waits for the fight or flight to kick in, but no go. He opens his mouth wide, and, in his own mind, he expels whatever demon has a hold of him. It tears past his lungs and up through his throat. He feels it, but there's still no sound.

Another surge of adrenaline and he's immediately tumbling head over heels. The spiral sucks him in and pulls him down, hard. Down and down, further into the darkness where he finally hits bottom. He tries to move, but his head feels as if it's glued to the floor.

~~~

The whispers wake him. They don't seem real as first, disguised as stirrings, movement in the corners. Until, like icy fingers, they grip him, jerk him forward in time. He suddenly feels older; he feels changed. When he opens his eyes, the cold is still there, but instead of the darkness, light pulses around him… or is that just his impression? It's a slow rhythm… blood red one moment, fathomless blue the next, and he seems to pulse with it, growing even colder, like a body floating in the ocean.

He needs to find out what the hell he's gotten himself into and work on a plan to get out. He tries to get free. In his mind, he's flailing, struggling to sit or stand, but he feels absolutely no exertion of energy, no forward progress. There's no flex of muscle, not even a trickle of adrenaline now. Has he been drugged? His mind seems to be the only thing on fire, the only thing functional. Suddenly, the space behind his eyes lights up like the Vegas strip. His heart, the rapid bump, bump, bump tags his chest wall with a dull ache.

It's then the whispers spin and turn into real words and begin to work their way past the din, into the light.

 _Selfish prick… what about Dad? What about what I want… You never think of that do you? It's all about you…. What about what I want?"_

He tries to take a breath. The words aren't new. Duty, responsibility. He's heard them how many times? Yet, they never fail to provoke a response. No mater how many times he promises himself he won't, he caves. He falls every time – into the same trap, fighting the same fight.

The darkness enshrouds him again as he struggles to recognize the voice. Is it his own? Is this a fight for his own sanity?

The torment he struggles against is invisible. Where is everybody? They'd been… where? Doing something… what? Why have they left him alone at the mercy of his own thoughts, his own mind, his own soul?

~~~

Teyla watches the nurse hand something to Dr. Beckett. She's been watching for hours along with Ronon and Rodney, the glass of the observation window separating them from the quarantine room below. John is so still and quiet on the lone stretcher, when just hours ago they'd been on the Sidharran homeworld attempting to evacuate an entire village to safety. She recalls with a reserved smile his offhand remark of not feeling well and then joking that it was nothing a hot shower and a cold beer wouldn't cure.

Now, an entire network of wires and leads shackle John to the various machinery beeping and flashing his every physical nuance. Thankfully, it is information that seems to please Carson and the others for now. On the other hand, she doesn't like how their faces show more confusion than concern as they're at a loss to explain why John has not regained consciousness.

Among her people, there are certain rituals for sitting with the ill and injured. The simple act of being near John, a touch, a word, so that he could know they were there, were safe, would help ease his mind. She does not think he feels fear, exactly. Uncertainty, yes. Not knowing the fate of his teammates or the Sidharrans they were helping. But there had been no time. Even as the rescue was being organized, John had been stricken. One thing she doesn't question is whether or not he blames himself for the miscommunication which led to some of the people being left in the village. For now, she can only hope that thought is somewhere it can do no harm.

Carson's voice lures her back to the present and to the monitor he's explaining. It seems too simple and almost irreverent that John Sheppard should be reduced to a color-coded arc measuring his brain activity, heart rate, respiration, and a handful of other vital statistics. In the range from innocuous pale blue to malevolent red-orange, John exists within a yellow square and a place designated as level six. The display looks similar to the way Rodney's readings appeared after the accident with the ascension machine. She understands now as she had then… such high level of brain activity is dangerous.

~~~

 _Perhaps you proved Colonel Sumner wrong. That is your story at least. Or could it be that you lived up to his reservations? No matter… the command is yours. Duty… responsibility… not exactly your forte. Ironic, wouldn't you say?_

Floating… the words lapping at his brain like ripples against the side of a small boat. It's the same nightmare, has to be. The one where by some misadventure, John is buried alive. The darkness sucks all the life out of the air until his lungs grow heavy and his arms start to flail. Pain, dulled only by the garrote of fear, flashes white-hot as splintered wood from some rough-hewn box shreds his fingers, drawing blood, blood that drips down onto his face. And while he's scraping and scrabbling at the lid, that's when he's supposed to wake up.

His lungs are heavy now, but he doesn't feel closed in… more being crushed slowly inside a vacuum. He thrashes around and tries to wake up… tries very hard to wake up.

 _He mentioned you in the tape he sent… Good man… said he trusted you with his life… Good man… You tell me, was that trust misplaced, Colonel? Colonel?_

 _Misplaced trust… Holland trusted you, too… thought you were a crazy son of a bitch, but trusted you… thought you knew where you were going… trusted you with his life… good man…_

Sheppard turns into the voice. He follows it around and around the scarred groove of replayed recrimination on the walls of his brain.

Crazy son of a bitch… heh, there was never any doubt about that. Shit. Holland. "But I was the only crazy son of a bitch around!"

The dark grave surrounding him vomits up a laugh, deep, cold, timeless. The sound of it leaves him with a shudder and a bad taste at the back of his throat.

 _You deny my words even as you struggle to protect them… coddle them… swallow them so no one but you can wield their power. You have never been so wrong… John Sheppard!"_

~~~

Teyla grasps Rodney's hand as they watch the monitors flash warnings, as John flails and tears at the tubes and wires. As the numbers on the monitors begin to climb, a cold spark flares deep in Teyla's chest.

Though John's mouth is open, he's silent. Some force has etched his face with lines, across his forehead and around his eyes – eyes that seem to stare up at them but not see them. Is it fear she sees, or just the warrior determination that allows him to push everything behind him in order to move forward. Here, the painful openness of it, bared for them all to see, feeds the cold she knows only too well.

"Carson? What's happening?" Elizabeth has been there with them since bringing the final word on the Sidharrans.

In the midst of barking orders, Carson says John is convulsing and he won't know more until he does another scan. More doctors rush to help; one works to strap John's arms down while a nurse hurriedly injects something into his IV. At first, it seems to do no good.

Realizing her nails must be digging into his flesh, she releases Rodney's hand. He doesn't seem to have noticed and they watch as someone maneuvers the portable scanner to John's bedside.

Ronon turns away, slams his fist into the wall, forcing Elizabeth answers the concern they all seem to share.

"Everything is being done that can be done. We have to let Dr. Beckett complete his assessment."

Teyla gives Ronon a sympathetic look; he is not the only one feeling helpless. "Dr. Weir, I believe Ronon's frustration is due to his feeling that we should be doing something to find out why this is happening to Colonel Sheppard and how."

"Damn right."

"Rodney?" Sadly, there's only a tiny ray of hope in Elizabeth's voice.

McKay turns from the observation window and glances down at his datapad. "Zelenka went back to the planet with Lorne's team to retrace our steps. But they're trying to beat the clock against a major storm front that will soon drown any benefit… it's all going to be wiped out. Besides, if it was anything environmental, or another one of those Wraith mind experiments, why weren't any of us affected? None of us were ever more than a few feet away… okay, maybe I strayed a little further, but—"

At the sound of Sheppard crying out, they all look away from Rodney, down to the gurney where John's fighting his restraints now. His eyes are closed; the pain on his face has been swallowed up by a rage that deepens the furrowed brows, strains the tendons and muscles in his neck and arms, bares his teeth, and that voice…

"What is he saying?"

Teyla looks to Elizabeth, who simply stands and stares. She feels the cold again, bottomless, pulling her eyes and attention back down to Colonel Sheppard.

In a few moments, the sedative begins to do its job; his arms lay open and limp at his sides. His mouth is still moving, but there's no more sound.

McKay presses Elizabeth again. "What language—was that Ancient?"

Elizabeth looks away from the window and shakes her head.

~~~

Sheppard's fear, elbowed into a tiny corridor by his anger, begins to subside. If he has to lose, he'll do it honest, hand to hand, fangs out… not by being duped, and certainly not through any mistake on his part. And he's sure as hell not just going to lie here and take it. Fuck that. He feels the fight well up inside. Oddly, it's a relief that spreads like a tide, each wave dampening the anger by small degrees, changing it into something else, something he can use.

He can still hear the voice, but it's muffled, like talking around a gag or a speaker turned face down. He's not even sure if it's his voice anymore, but it is eerily familiar, like the feeling of knowing he's left something undone. He stretches out his mind, pursuing one lead, then another into nothing, until it all fades again under another wave.

~~~

"He seems fine now…" Carson is saying. "There's no immediate danger, but I won't know the effect until I compare the scans. I'm not sure if he can take another spike like that. As you can see, his activity level is still high even though he's sedated."

"Do you think this could be something residual from the Iratus bug contamination?"

"So far, none of the tests bear that out. I'm afraid until I can pinpoint a cause…"

"Understood." Elizabeth glances around at the others before addressing Carson once again. "Could you make out anything he was saying?"

Dr. Beckett shakes his head. "Sorry, no." He puts on that forlorn half-smile he always uses when he thinks he should have the answer to something but doesn't.

"It's Wraith."

They all turn to look at Ronon.

"Ronon, are you sure?"

"You don't beat these bastards for as long as I did without picking up a few things. The words Sheppard said are fight or struggle and something..." He hesitates.

"What else?"

"Something inside his head."

Even before Ronon said the words, Teyla knows. All of a sudden, the darkness catches up with the cold and slams into her so hard she sways on her feet. Strong hands catch her before she falls. Elizabeth pulls up a chair for her and she sits down.

"Ronon is right," she says, somewhat breathless. She looks up at Dr. Weir and the expression she gets back tells her Elizabeth already knows this.

"Do you sense something here?" she asks.

This is different from the dreams or the visions. Teyla hasn't felt the cold in this way since her father was taken, a bitter wind that touches her core. "It is a strange sensation…" Strange, because she does not fear this. "I feel something, but it's coming from there."

All three pairs of eyes follow her pointed finger to the gurney sitting at the bottom of the isolation room.

~~~

The isolation room is cool, the air clean, but there's a presence there that raises the hairs on Teyla's bare arms the instant she steps inside. She refuses a suit and mask, which causes another skirmish, but she wants nothing between her and whatever this is. By the time they've all convinced Carson, Teyla senses the presence retreating. It is not as strong, but it's still there, as if it sensed her, too, and crouched behind one of the machines or disappeared through the wall into the next room.

"I still feel it, but it has pulled back." She turns to look up at the observation window, where she finds the watchful faces of her teammates. "It seems to be coming from Colonel Sheppard."

Carson notes that the brain activity has waned and Sheppard's vitals are approaching a more normal state. He then pulls up a rollaway stool for Teyla to sit on.

She moves it closer to the gurney. The sight of John lying there, when she feels he's suffering, is almost too much. She reaches out for his hand and closes her eyes, concentrating on nothing but the hard thump of John's pulse and the presence that seems to be stalking him.

"Yes," she murmurs. "It knows I am here."

"Is it here," Elizabeth asks again. "In Atlantis?"

Sound from the observation room seems programed, not real, because her true ear is tuned only to Sheppard. Teyla shakes her head. "No. I do not have the feeling Atlantis is in any immediate danger."

"Well, we can be thankful for small favors." Even not fully listening, she catches the clear separation of sarcasm and relief tucked away in Rodney's voice.

"And Colonel Sheppard?"

~~~~

Like falling into black, he find himself floating again, navigating a vast nothingness with a guarded calm. The voice in his head is different. Its rhythm keeps him afloat, buoyed on some kind of joyous tide that, while it does bring him some welcome relief, still sheds no light.

Where is he? Where is his team?

How is it he feels the words being spoken more than hears them? They tease his skin when they roll over him. He can taste them in his mouth, and these aren't like before, they're mild, with maybe a little sweetness. Whatever, he'll take it.

John closes his eyes – or thinks he does – and drifts.

~~~~

Teyla jumps at the sound of the voice. She opens her eyes into darkness; her heart pounds. She's angry because now she can feel John's blood pressure rising. The jolt of adrenaline tastes sour on the back of her tongue.

The voice is old, gruff, but measured in its delivery as it ticks off one sad memory after another, she assumes, from John's childhood. The noise of the monitors is a distraction now, as are the rush of footsteps into the room. She holds up her hand for them to stop and they do. There's no room in her mind for the ensuing argument between Dr. Weir and Carson, so she blocks it out, focusing only on the voice until she feels the full force of the intruder. It is Wraith; she knows that just as she knows the blood that flows through her veins.

In her mind, she steps from the dark onto a roadway, standing in a lone arc of light. The path under her feet is made of rock and dirt. Around her in the darkness, shadows of trees seem to reach out for her. When she looks up, all she finds is the blackness of thin air and a few stars. Then she hears a step along the path.

"Who are you?" Her question isn't spoken; she watches it travel along the path and begins to sense the same presence as before. She doesn't expect a response, so she is surprised when it speaks. There is no reserve on the part of this presence. Closer to the truth, it confuses her, the ease and familiarity with which it makes itself known.

 _"I could ask you the same, but then I know who you are."_

"What are you doing to Colonel Sheppard? What do you want with him?"

The cold tightens its gripped as a veil slips around her. She holds fast to John in some naïve effort to keep it from touching him.

 _"There is a reason Wraith reserve the giving of life for our most ardent worshippers and our brothers…"_

The arc of light grows until, like a hand parting the veil, she sees the long, flowing coat and hard-worn boots. The hands that swim into view are veined, green-gray, and even paler in the light. Her breath catches with the glint of the shiny blue metal wrapped around a single finger. It twitches and she looks up, past the matted, dirty-linen colored hair to the face and the tired, blue-black markings surrounding the Wraith's left eye.

"You? How are you…" She tries hard to will the intrusion to an end, but the cold fire in her chest, empty and black as hidden ice, tells her there is nothing she can do to stop it.

 _"The act of restoring life is a very intimate process – as pieces of one are taken, so pieces of the other are left. There is a bond between Wraith and human. A bond beyond that of a mere moral code, it is a connection. But I do not need to explain to you; you are a descendent of the Forgotten Ones, those taken many years ago."_

"How can you know that?"

 _"My bond affords me much knowledge. Usually, Wraith are only able to impose their will through the connection. There is something about Colonel Sheppard that allows the pathway to give and take – imagine my surprise. Leaving that aside, Wraith's connection to the Forgotten is an old one, but one that still holds quite strong."_

Teyla takes a deep breath, pushing past any doubt of whether or not she has truly come to terms with this aspect of her heritage. She no longer sees it as a threat to her standing with the expedition or among her people, and it may be John's only hope.

This Wraith is the one she watched feed on John. So old, he no longer had a hive that would welcome him. He had been abandoned as a captive. Has this Wraith any connection to the Forgotten? Is that the reason she can so clearly connect with him?

"You have still not answered my question – what is your purpose? What are you doing to him?"

 _"You will not believe me, but I wish your good Colonel no ill will. He could have killed me, yet he did me the courtesy of placing me on a planet known to be frequented by Wraith."_ The Wraith's voice is low and sounds choked with non-use. _"However, it has taken me this long to get close to my former hive again. There are some still loyal to me and I have a plan to win back my leadership. It is your Colonel's strength I seek… but he is weakening."_

"Then let him go. If he weakens, will that not weaken you?"

 _"It is more his mental fortitude I find myself in want of. Something of which Sheppard has an ample supply. I have never before met human or Wraith who was more self-castigating. I need only to take up his own oft-flung barbs and I am able to feel his struggle surge through me."_

"You are in some kind of trouble, then?"

 _"I am merely a Wraith attempting to regain a bit of his stature. The younger ones do not seem to have my generation's reverence for the elders. They have always viewed my captivity as a sign of weakness."_

"And why should we care about that? Do you expect Colonel Sheppard to care?"

 _"I expect the good Colonel, like me, understands the importance of a good tactical advantage."_

"So we are all to stand by and watch while you—"

 _"Please know, you are powerless to do anything else. Your incentive, your… advantage is simple. Should I regain my former position as Commander, perhaps garner a few more hives into a following, this Wraith would be in a position to assist the humans of Atlantis. As I am sure Sheppard and your leaders have noticed, not all Wraith are united in their view of the current hostilities."_

"And when do you plan to end it… when you've driven him completely insane?"

The Wraith bares his sieve-like teeth in what she takes for a smile. _"Sheppard was right about one thing. You, his… friends, you are his family, much as Wraith brothers. He would do anything to protect you."_

Pain, blinding and sharp, sears from temple to temple. Teyla holds her head against the building pressure of the Wraith's words. Words directed at John. Allegations of insubordination and disloyalty, delivered with such venom and callous asides it drives Teyla to her knees on the path. She immediately feels a pull in the opposite direction as she struggles to stand; John is fighting back.

Back in the infirmary, Sheppard jerks beneath her, finally freeing his hand; it flails wildly as the warning buzzers and bells pulse and ring. Teyla waves off the arms and hands trying to help her, then mentally presses on through the barrage.

She tries to keep her focus, now fearing she'll lose the connection while trying to calm John at the same time. She's barely aware of Carson and the others working around her; they feel like a memory. Taking a deep breath, she begins to chant, the sound echoing along the walls of the pathway.

"Carson, how much longer can Colonel Sheppard hold out?" Elizabeth's voice reflects that she, too, is juggling options. Strange how easy it is to tell that with her mind so focused.

"Provided I can keep his neural activity at the current level… a few hours, maybe more. But I cannot say what the prognosis will be if this activity escalates – bloody hell, I'm not even sure what damage has already been done."

And just as suddenly as it began, Sheppard falls quiet and still. The Wraith's release is like a weight physically lifted from Teyla, though she keeps her defenses up. She still senses the Wraith, but he has retreated once more. She slowly opens her eyes and turns to the observation window.

"Dr. Weir, this presence is the same Wraith that restored Colonel Sheppard's life. Through his connection, he is drawing on Colonel Sheppard's strength to prepare to retake control of his former hive. The Wraith says that he may be in a position to assist us if he is reunited. Perhaps if we were to—"

Before she can say more, Ronon steps up beside Elizabeth.

"He's lying. You can't play his game. Sheppard wouldn't want any of us giving in. How is this any different than what Koyla did to him?"

Elizabeth turns and looks down onto the isolation room, her own struggle written on her face. "Carson, run any tests you need. I want to know the minute anything changes. Teyla, do you think you can continue to run interference? Maybe we can buy the Colonel a bit more time."

"Time for what?" Rodney's voice is high and tight. "He's got a Wraith inside his head." He looks down to where Teyla is seated; their eyes meet. "You know what that's like," he says to her. "It's torture. We need to do something now."

"Through a connection created when Colonel Sheppard's life was restored, the Wraith is using some sort of mental extraction to feed off of Colonel Sheppard's strength, but he has backed off."

"That would seem to explain the high level of neural activity," Carson remarks.

"Holy crap, talk about your fine print…"

Elizabeth asks, "And you are communicating through telepathy in this same connection?"

Teyla nods. "John is fighting him, which is weakening him and giving the Wraith what he wants. If I can only keep the Wraith occupied, perhaps I can talk him out of it; give John a chance to resist on his own."

"Can you do that?" McKay asks.

Ronon doesn't let her answer. "I still don't like it. What we need is a location—take this connection out at the source."

"Teyla, can you sense anything like that? Do you see anything?"

She isn't sure of a location. The connection with the Wraith is strong but it is different from her ability, not something she seems able to control. Almost as if the connection exists because the Wraith allows it. She casts her eyes down and shakes her head.

"Then we look for the bastard. McKay?"

"I don't know… maybe I can rig up something with the long range scanners… or there could be some information we overlooked on one of those data devices retrieved from the Genii." He stops to speak to Dr. Weir. "Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth continues to stare down at the gurney. "Get Lorne and his team back here – if you find something, check it out first. If Major Lorne can come up with a plan, I'll consider it."

~~~~

Teyla feels the Wraith is still biding his time. She enjoys the quiet, secure in knowing – for the moment – John is safe. His face shows it. All but a few of the lines have smoothed out, the torment gone, leaving only the handsome. Looking at him now, she wonders why she's never noticed the symmetry of John's face – the way the planes and curves and features fit together in a kind of imperfect perfection.

She thinks of some of the things the Wraith said. There had been a definite change in the man lying helpless before her. His promotion, the responsibility, his brushes with death. How much more does the Wraith know about John?

Resolve steals up her spine like a big cat stalking prey; it wraps around her shoulders, heavy like battle armor, as she begins her chant again. She will not give up; she made the decision long before now: there is nothing she wouldn't do for John.

 _"So, as Sheppard told me, his friends really do… have his back?"_

She gasps for air as she's thrust back into the middle of the road. "Would you not do the same for one of your brothers?" she asks, trying to mask her surprise at how effortlessly the Wraith is able to reestablish contact. As if he were merely standing in the shadows, watching, waiting.

He replies with a simple, _"Yes."_

"Doctor Beckett says that Colonel Sheppard cannot take much more of this intrusion."

 _"Your doctor is quite wrong. As long as I wish to leave the mental pathway open, Sheppard will comply. Especially if I stop tormenting him – then he will blissfully drift as long as I allow it."_

"When you could just as easily leave him alone?"

 _"I could. But not until I get what I need."_

"Even if what you need destroys him?"

 _"Now, that would be a most unkind way to repay Sheppard for allowing me to see the sky again. It is not easy for me, trying to regain my place among my hive. If your Colonel had found a way to exploit this gift first, I am sure he would have done so, and not so benevolently."_

"You call what you are doing benevolent?" Teyla's head aches; she feels the Wraith's mocking grin as she fills the whole of her mind with nothing but releasing John from its hold. "What if we were to offer our help for yours? I believe having Colonel Sheppard safe and sound will be worth something to help you in your quest."

 _"You are in no position to make such an offer. You do not have that kind of bargaining power with these new Lanteans… it is a great risk for you."_

"If ensuring John Sheppard's safety means my exile from Atlantis, then I will gladly accept those consequences."

 _"Sheppard is indeed fortunate to have such support. Now do you see why I covet such ability?"_

"And yet, you would use Colonel Sheppard's generosity against him?"

 _"As I said to him, there is much about Wraith that humans do not understand. It was not I who made us enemies… nor you, but there is no reason we cannot share a common goal. However, it would appear that we find ourselves at somewhat of an impasse. You are determined to protect him, and while your interference is less than effective, it is annoying and, I must confess, interesting."_

"Then you have what you need."

 _"I will when you have made good on your promise."_

"For that, I will need to know your location."

 _"Indeed you will."_

"Teyla… No!"

The sound rebounds inside her head; it takes her breath and causes her heart to pound violently. John's eyes are open, but still staring into nothing. There is no other activity going on around her; she does not think he's speaking audibly – they are all still on the path. Careful to keep the Wraith in his place, she tries to reach out to John.

"Colonel… can you hear me?"

"Whatever you're thinking of… can't. You can't do it, Teyla. Tell this Wraith he can go to hell. Should have shot him… should have killed you when I had the chance!"

 _"Ahhh, this is what I have been longing for, some resistance. It courses through me… much as your life force."_

"I'm flattered… thought you never wanted to see me again." John twitches on the stretcher. "But you're starting to piss me off, fucker."

 _"Excellent! But ask yourself, what is the purpose of your anger? Is it because we are so much alike? Because I am intelligent and know a good tactical advantage when I see it… better yet, that I seek to exploit such an advantage for my own needs."_

John's head lolls from side to side. "Don't know what you're talking about."

 _"Yes, you believe that right is reserved for humans. You are angry because, like it or not, deep down you know there is a measure of parity among us. Still, humans stand no chance against Wraith. Wraith are many and you are—"_

"Still with the numbers thing… never tell me the odds, asshole… we…"

 _"When you discovered your own teammate had this special ability, did you first think of her feelings or how she had considered it a plague over the years? No, you immediately saw it as a way to gain an advantage – something to be used against Wraith."_

"D'ya think we're gonna sit back, hold hands, and sing Kumbayah while the Wraith exterminates us?"

 _"No. Sadly, peaceful coexistence is not in the interest of humans or Wraith… But do not condemn me for a stain you see in your own eye."_

"So what is it you want? What does a Wraith need from a puny, inferior human besides dinner?"

"Colonel, please," Teyla begs, "You are playing right into what he wants."

 _"Assistance in regaining something you, Colonel Sheppard, already enjoy… my rightful place in my hive, reinstatement of my rank, support of brothers, respect from those who left me to die."_

"Good luck with that. I'm sure they'll all line up for a leader who has to run to John Sheppard rather than stand on his own. 'Course, I do seem to have a reputation among the Queens, so maybe you'll get lucky at that." The tone of John's voice turns harsh. "You want help, get it somewhere else."

 _"Oh, but you have given me more than you could possibly imagine. John Sheppard is not without his weaknesses… He has spent the last few years learning to give himself away. Small pieces to be friended and nurtured… small pieces of an empty—"_

"Get the fuck out of my heeeeaaaadddd!"

Teyla sucks in a breath and puts herself squarely between them. The light casts angled shadows of the three of them there on the road. "Let him go."

The Wraith shifts his stance, seems to brush something from the sleeve of his jacket, paying her no mind. _"These people who ask nothing from you. It's easier this way, isn't it, Sheppard? you think you can protect them and by extension the entire galaxy, making up for all the times in your past when you didn't."_

Teyla feels the hot breath at her back, can almost feel the beat of John's heart. She hears the alarms and blips from the monitors… far away, back in the infirmary, they sound tinny and out of sync to what is happening around her. She must stop this. She pushes John further back and forces her own will forward. Drawing on the knowledge of who she is, she is able to face the Wraith one on one.

"I will not allow you do this to him any longer."

 _"You would take his place?"_

Teyla stares into the slit yellow eyes, feels herself being drawn in, slipping past them into a place blacker than where she's already been. She stops herself before it takes her completely. "We have an agreement," she says, stiffening her stance and praying it is enough.

 _"Indeed."_

Then she feels a sudden warming, as if she were guilty of something and trying to hide it. The feeling is odd and obtrusive in the way it spreads. She can only liken to being touched in an undesired manner. It turns her stomach and then it is gone.

"Teyla… Teyla? What did you… Teyla?"

 _"There is nothing you can do to change it."_ The Wraith's voice isn't as clear as before; she realizes that while she senses the both of them, she has stepped back from the light, off the pathway. _"As long as there are Wraith, the people you care for will be in danger."_

"I should have left your ass in that Genii cell…"

The Wraith's laughter rumbles in her chest; he is as strong as ever, but she feels John weakening.

 _"You would not have escaped without me; you should remember that. I have seen your legacy, John Sheppard… all you ultimately have to offer these people who trust you with their lives."_

"I'll find you… one day, and then I'll make good on our promise."

 _"Will you… find me?"_ The guttural sound of the Wraith's laughter circles and echoes, then finally slips past her into the shadows.

Teyla squints into the light of the isolation room. Watching the monitors, she feels she can breathe again when it appears John is no longer in danger. Inside her head now, she sees the words and intonations of the chant as if they have a life of their own. She pays particular attention to the cadence, almost as if it serves to reassure her as well.

~~~

Even though the corners of his vision are still a little fuzzy, at least the elephant has stepped off his chest. The noise in the room seems deafening – people talking, machines bleating out his vitals as though it was front-page news He feels everything: a residual vibration, individual hairs displaced by the forced air, his eyes moving in their sockets, the whorls and loops on each of his fingertips. The odor of the infirmary is overwhelming with his next breath, but familiar. Thank god, familiar.

"How… how long have I been out? Jesus, what… Sidharra, the people…"

"They are fine, Colonel. Another team was able to extract the remaining villagers to safety."

John turns his head; his eyes finally seem to focus with some recognition. "How long?"

"A day," Ronon answers.

He flicks his gaze over to the large, fuzzy figure standing behind Teyla. "A day?"

Jesus. He barely remembers the… after. More scans, more blood, more sleepy-time meds, so, yeah, maybe a day. Shifting his position, he realizes he must have lost his case for the removal of his catheter.

He does recall something about Beckett threatening him with restraints if he didn't stay put - he may have even argued at first. He's fine, the Wraith is gone, yadda-yadda, but the infirmary is Beckett in his domain, the only place in Atlantis where Sheppard's particular form of currency holds no sway.

Looking around, Beckett's concession must have been the private room. John takes it all in, happy the poking and probing are over. He's secretly glad to hear Ronon and McKay swapping snark, particularly when McKay sounds so exasperated. But John's focus is somewhere in the midspace, where Teyla is smiling at them, and the clean, but enticing fragrance of her skin seems so near.

"Okay, is someone going to tell me what the hell happened?"

Teyla glances sidelong at the others, then back to him and smiles. The weight of it is like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

"How come I have a feeling I'm not going to like this?"

"Do you recall anything?" Teyla asks.

"Just a voice… sounded like mine at first, then another one. That one was calm, reassuring, and soothing - I'm thinking it was yours."

She smiles again. "Anything else?"

"Feeling like I've been batted around like a cat's toy… you know, in my head." He looks at Ronon, then the others. Rodney's pecking away at his datapad and Teyla has fallen quiet. "What?"

"How much do you know about Wraith bonding?"

He shoots an awkward glance at Ronon. "Look, if this has anything to do with the way the Wrait…"

"Apparently," Teyla continues, cutting him off with _that_ look. "When a Wraith restores the life of a human, it creates a… connection.

"So the voice… this whole thing? The Wraith that…"

"I told you you should have killed him when you had the chance," Ronon says. John notices he has a small book in his hand and watches as he marks his place with a strip of leather and shoves the book into his back pocket.

"He was drawing on your strength. If we had not stopped it when we did, he may have driven you mad. However, it seems he is able to tap into this connection effortlessly."

"You mean he can dance back into my head any time he wants? Whoa, wait a minute… is this the same thing like you, where you can detect them? This might not be such a bad thing after all."

"It is similar, yes. At least the way the Wraith explained it. Although, from everything that Dr. Beckett has been able to deduce, you seem to only be affected once the connection is established."

"No forewarning? Why doesn't it work both ways?"

"The Wraith mentioned you were different, that there was something about you. Carson is at a loss to explain it, but he is still working… we are just very glad to have you back, John."

"Well, it's good to be back." It's old hat, but true; he's just glad to be there. Shadows of the Wraith's words try to curl around his mind, but he pushes them right on by. They're all here and that's what matters… his team. His family. And, damn, most of the time it seems just like…

Playing with Dave until one or the other cheated or felt he'd been cheated, that brief sense of being real brothers before someone stirred up something and pit them against each other. Feeling responsible because Dave never took that as well as John did, could never see what a master their father was. Feeling the crush of responsibility because their mother didn't protect Dave as much as she should have.

Shaking off those sketches from the past, he knows it's the same with the three people in the room with him. A determination not to let them down, to always be responsible and accountable.

"Just don't go thinking you're special," Teyla says, an exaggerated expression of concern on her face. "I would have done the same for any one of you."

At first, he thinks he's missed something; it takes him a few moments to make the connection to his very own words. He smiles back and says seriously. "Even McKay?"

"Oh, har-har…" Rodney presses one last key on the tablet in his lap and looks up. "Right. You're back to normal; I'm gonna go grab something to eat."

John has to wonder if what McKay has been so engrossed in has anything to do with what happened or how. "One thing I don't get… how did you get him to let go of me anyway?"

"I believe I finally gave you a chance to fight back on your own," Teyla replies. "Perhaps the combination proved too much."

Her eyes flash quickly before darting away, and he's not imagining the flush beginning to spread over her throat. Maybe it's the meds or the nature of whatever he was caught in, but he doesn't remember everything, just shadows of phrases, a few things a little too close to the surface, and a niggling doubt.

"Nah, something else. Teyla, what did you do?" It's not his imagination how quiet the room gets either.

"When the Wraith mentioned that he could be helpful, I may have agreed that we could also be… helpful."

"You what?"

"Wait, we thought the Wraith gave you the address through the, uhm, whatsit," Rodney says. "No wonder the M.A.L.P. didn't find anything—though all signs of life did point to recent Wraith activity. Well, anyway, we've got a new gate address to scope out."

"Yeah, and the only reason to use it is so we can go kill every Wraith on the planet."

"Relax, Chewy… we aren't using it, period. In fact, I don't even want it in the database where it can be dialed accidentally."

Rodney's still gawking at Teyla. "Seriously, you made a deal with a Wraith? Was that supposed to be a delivery address or something?"

"Hey, McKay... thought you were hungry." Ronon grabs him by the collar and pulls him up out of his chair.

"I know, but this is just—don't you want to find out—"

"Let's go."

Looking at Teyla, John raises an eyebrow and points to the door. "If you're hungry, I suggest you run; you can beat these guys easy."

"No, I am fine. I'd like to stay here, if that's all right."

"Did you want us to bring you anything then?" McKay asks as Ronon helps him to the door.

"Tea would be nice, Rodney. Thank you."

"And you, Colonel Comedian?"

John pulls a face and holds up both arms. "I'd say coffee and some brain bleach, but it looks like Beckett has me covered for a while."

"Tea it is, then. I'll bring the chessboard - and don't think you're getting off easy just because some Wraith's been paying footsie with your brain. You get no mercy from me."

Ronon shoves McKay through the door, then turns around and winks. "I'll sneak a beer or two in here for later."

"Hell, yes. But if you get caught, I'm disavowing all knowledge." John watches them leave and catches the last of Teyla's eyeroll of doom. "You sure you don't want to change your mind… about McKay, I mean?"

"Of course not." She rolls her stool closer and sits down again. "You are all special to me, and you know that I would never do anything…"

"Negotiating with a Wraith? You know my rules, Teyla. What if he found more than just my deep, dark secrets?" That in itself made him shudder… the Wraith could probably use some brain bleach as well. "He was rummaging around in some pretty scary places; if he could dig up some of that crap, who knows what he could find? What if he got the location of Atlantis?"

"But you would never let that happen; you would let him destroy you before you'd let anything happen to…" She stops and blinks, her brows furrow over those warm, brown eyes. "No, the Wraith wished to feed off your strength… I do not believe he had any other motivation."

He doesn't expect that. It's almost as if Teyla understands more than she's letting on, and that would make them even. But it's more, like maybe she knows more about the Wraith than she's saying, like she was more than just a crossing guard in his little tussle with the Wraith.

"He seems to have a strange regard for you."

John huffs a laugh. "Oh yeah, I could tell from all of his support—what gave it away for you? Look, all I'm saying is, you should have held out."

"So I should have let him continue until he drove you mad, or worse?"

"No. He doesn't want that. Hell, he's a big kid with a brand new toy; he's not gonna break it the first day… Teyla."

With a labored breath, he realizes he's becoming agitated. It's not easy talking to her in this way, when he has to be the hard-ass, the boss… He likes movie night much better, or when they're all joking around or even when he and Teyla spar, when they don't really have to talk.

"So what did you do? What kind of 'help' does 'ol pasty-face expect from us?"

"I was purposefully non-committal," Teyla replies. "But I may have implied weapons."

"Well, he's just gonna have to be disappointed. In the meantime, Carson can figure out how to short circuit this pathway thingy." He gives her a hard look; he does it on purpose. "Still think I'm special?"

It feels awkward, but like something he should do, so he reaches out to pat her hand, only she captures it and holds on.

~~~

The touch of John's hand is like some forbidden treasure, and for a moment, she's unsure of what to say.

He is special. She will always think so. But now that she knows things she's certain John has never shared, how much more special? Does her newfound knowledge create a piece of him that somehow belongs only to her? And why is it so important to think so?

"The Wraith released you. For whatever reason, I was able to draw his attention away from you and his intent."

"By promising him something you had no auth—"

She squeezes his hand until their eyes meet. "He released you," she repeats, measuring her words carefully.

John appears to be mulling that over; she can almost hear the clicks and whirs behind that thick skull. She smiles. Knowing how to use a tactical advantage is not the special purview of men alone.

"There was something else," John says finally, after the look in his eyes softens a bit. "Funny, I just thought of it… some kind of chanting or singing. I couldn't understand the words."

She feels her cheeks warm. "It is an old Athosian acclamation – a paean that belonged to the Forgotten Ones. It was said to have been passed down from the spirits of the Ancestors. The words to the chant would be just what one required in times of need. It is also said to help drive away any negative remnants from an unpleasant encounter."

John shifts in the infirmary bed, his arm at an awkward angle because his hand is still in hers. "Well, I don't know about that… just don't quit your day job, if you know what I mean."

When his face breaks into a huge grin, Teyla laughs with him. She's only too happy to share in his good humor. Arching an eyebrow, she warns, "You will pay for that, Colonel, the next time I have you cornered in the gym."

He tries to sit up then. "Bring it. In a few days… just you wait."

Though it appears to be a valiant try, he can't maintain it and falls back against his pillows. She watches him wet his lips with his tongue before speaking. It's a gesture that will always command her attention.

"Teyla… whatever you heard or sensed or…" His face screws up into one of his more humorous expressions. "…whatever. I trust you to keep anything, you know, personal to yourself."

"My lips are sealed." It does not escape her the way his eyes drop to her mouth.

"And that means we don't talk about it," he says with a pained grin, slowly lifting his eyes back to hers. "Deal?"

"Deal."

His eyes slowly close and she watches him drift, arm still cocked at that awkward angle. She would change it, but she doesn't want to let go.

Somehow, she knows this won't be that last time she'll need to rescue John Sheppard. Thinking back over the last few days, she would do it all over again. She might even promise things she has no authority to promise if that's what it would take. In her eyes, she's done nothing John Sheppard hasn't done… and done it time and time again.

Sitting there with him, she tries to not want more. She glides her thumb over cool, dry knuckles and begins to chant softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Thanks to Melagan for being an awesome sounding board. Also a huge thank you to my beta/editor, Mischief5. I called on her to perform over and above and she aced it, as usual.
> 
> Tielan's prompt: John is caught in a mind-trap (can be due to his gene, or something else) and Teyla/his team have to get him out before he loses it. Use Teyla's Wraith telepathy since it's a mind-trap. Think 'Phantoms'. Focus more on how Teyla/his team is keeping John sane, than what they're doing to fix the problem. (Although, obviously, problem-solving will be needed.)


End file.
